


all for an heir

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Kink Meme, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Robb/Jeyne post-battle sex. </p><p>(Apologies for the id-fic quality of this and the generally shoddy writing. NGL, it was hella fun to write though!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	all for an heir

The firelight was bright enough to sew by of an evening. A good spot for needlework, but tonight she could scarce concentrate on the sewing in her shaking hands. The men, Robb's men, had ridden out two days prior, to the east. Though there had been ravens to tell her Robb still lived, the last one had arrived well over six hours ago.   
  
 _Before the evening meal I still had a husband,_ _but after that,_ she thought, _who could tell for certain_?   
  
Jeyne fidgeted in her seat and sighed before turning back to the fine stitches edging the small blanket. She had begun it the day the men rode out to war. Sitting alongside the Lady Caetlyn, who noded at the sight: bedclothes for the boy they both hoped she would bear Robb. _Quickly_ , she prayed often, as quickly as she could. To give birth to another Stark for Winterfell, and so to make her king and his lady mother smile, Jeyne wished with all her heart to be able to do.   
  
"No news?" she asked her lady's maid, who came to undress her at the usual time.   
  
"No, your Grace," said the girl. She slipped a loose white tunic over Jeyne's upstretched arms. "If you'd care to sit, your Grace," she instructed, "I'll do your hair now."   
  
"I'll never sleep," Jeyne wringed her hands as her hair was brushed, "Not until I know he's alive."   
  
"Shall I send for some wine, your Grace?" the girl asked. "It might help you to fall asleep."   
  
"Yes," she admitted, "I think you'd better."   
  
One cup of the spiced wine would hardly have sufficed. Her nerves were such that a whole cask need be required. Nevertheless, the large flagon took at least a bit of the edge off. Jeyne drank the cup down in four large gulps, at the urging of her handmaid - "Drink it quickly, your Grace, it will work upon you the quickest if you drink it quick" -  before kneeling at the edge of her featherbed and praying to the seven for Robb's safe delivery to her. And after that, she decided, slipping under the covers, she would pray for their efforts to bear fruit.   
  
Her dreams were fitful, the sleep shallow, and thrice she awoke to the thought that a direwolf was standing over her shoulder.   
  
She smelt him before anything, the reek of sweat and dung.   
  
Jeyne sat bolt upright in the bed, "My lord?" she asked, but no sooner had she uttered the words than her lord's mouth was crushed against her own, and the taste of blood filled her mouth -- though whether her own or his or that of a fallen enemy she could not for true say. The heavy metal armor protecting him required four hands to strip off, four hands they could not keep off one another. He was here, she realized, he _lives._ He had been wounded above the eye, a long cut that gashed the skin, but the eye had been spared. 

His breastplate clattered onto the ground and the stench of matted cloth wafted up to her nose. The smell of battle was still upon him: blood and metal, fear, horse. Sweat and life and death. 

"My lord," she repeated, like another prayer, for he lived. 

Robb kissed her, driving his tongue between her lips. Jeyne yielded easily to the kiss, leaning into the solid warmth of her husband. His mouth covered hers and the lack of air made her head light. His hand found her between her legs and she yielded there as well. His nails were black with grit, she saw, as he reached up to tear her tunic at the top, exposing her breasts. The chafe when he kissed her there was instantly worse than on her lips, where Robb's beard had scraped away the surface of her skin. Jeyne licked her lips over and over to taste the salt heat of his mouth as he sank down to the foot of the bed. She bucked at the first flick of his tongue against her with equal parts pleasure and hurt. Every place that Robb kissed her burned with cold and fire. His perfect mouth found places she knew not existed, and in her passion Jeyne grabbed fistfuls of his hair, matted with hard dirt that crumbled when she touched it. His hands roved over her bare flesh, reaching up to her backside and her belly and the warmth between her legs turned to heat in her stomach quickly, quickly -- so quickly upon her that it passed all too soon. 

  
He rose, then, and stripped off the filthy garment up top, tossing it to the ground. One hand held Jeyne, strong and calloused underneath her lower back while the other found her hands, clasping them both as he entered her; as quiet and as silent as he had entered the tent. It hurt as it ever did, a stab sweeter than steel. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, pulling him _in_  to the hilt -- no matter the pain, she wanted him close enough to be able to puncture her insides. His beard grazed her face as he bracketed her arms with his own. When he heard her cry out, more loudly than did befit a lady, he covered her mouth with his hand to muffle the sound. The press of his fingers gave her something to shout against.   
  
His breath quickened into her ear and sent warm shivers through her body, down past her toes, a warmth again and again and _again_ she said, "I prayed for you, for you to return to me, and the Gods have made it so."  Robb rubbed his face against her cheek and she whispered into his jawline, "Fill me with your seed, m'lord, and I will give you a son worthy of your house." Her king wrenched his eyes tight, then, and she held him inside her as he found his release. She wrapped her thighs around him once more and said, kissing his sweaty upper lip, "Stay here, my love, like this." Robb laid his head on her reddened breast and sighed into it, a boy, too, himself.  


End file.
